Highway to Hell
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Dear Mom,
Freddie Benson froze, pen pressed delicately against his initialed stationary (his mother had wanted a girl, so sue him) as a sudden realization swept over him. He was writing a Dear Mom letter- a god damn Dear Mom letter no less than twenty minutes after his love-fueled exclamation to be 'dangerously spontaneous' from that point on. No wonder Carly had given him that 'Oh, sure…' smile after he had so passionately vowed to change his whole personality for her. No wonder Carly had said she wasn't his type in the first place- she wanted dangerous and reckless, which was not Freddie.
He had a plan. He was going to runaway- not forever, because that would defeat the purpose of wooing Carly- but for the summer, at least. He was going to be like a movie Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt would star in their younger years; a sheltered young youth who needed a one-on-one road trip to discover himself. By the end of the summer he'd have a pair of shades, overwhelming confidence and Carly. It was a perfect plan. Or it was well until he made the check list and started on the Dear Mom letter.
"Just go," he commanded himself, turning his back on his desk and facing his half-packed suitcase. He hadn't even packed the first-aid section! "Don't do it." He gaze strayed to his bookshelf where tons of handy guide books and travel-savvy CDs he had collected over the years laid. Well, even the baddest of the bad had to have some kind of plan.
Yes, his mind spat sarcastically, I'm sure before his death Sid Vicious was all about the guidebooks.
Freddie shook his head, he just needed to go. Needed to get away before he was overcome by his sensible side- overcome by what made him Freddie Benson, the best friend and not Freddie Benson, the boyfriend. With another love-fueled wave of passion he closed his suitcase and started out, telling his mind to shut up as he thought about his soon to be worry-ridden mother. He was eighteen, in August he'd be at Yale- it was time to live without mommy's okay. It was time to live, period.
"I'm doing this," he told himself, stepping out of the elevator to meet the evil glare of Lewbert, the doorman.
"Hey! Hey! Where do you think you're going with that suitcase," he screeched in his nails-to-chalkboard voice.
"Into the wild." Mental note, do not quote non-fiction titles on the road trip. Actually, it'd probably be better if he didn't quote any literature that wasn't like Fight Club or something else equally popular and manly.
"Yeah," Lewbert hissed as Freddie started out the door. "Well, have fun with that."
Freddie smirked, oh he would.
Probably.
/
Shit.
Credit cards were shit. What, did no one carry cash anymore? Sam flipped through the third and last wallet she had nicked throughout the day, adding the loan twenty to the wad of cash beside her. Wallets that cost hundreds with nothing but chump chain in them, it was a sad sight.
"Black Amex," Sam hissed despairingly at the card. "If only your owner hadn't already reported you as stolen." She tossed the card behind her, inspecting the wallet it came from closely. It looked like a knock off, but she might be able to find a crappy pawn shop with an owner too dim-witted to notice. In truth, she didn't even need to trade the items- her last few days pull while not great, were enough to buy her a week at a cheap motel. She didn't want a week at a motel though; she wanted a night in a five star hotel. If she wanted a motel she would have stayed at home and put up with her crap life like most normal teenagers did.
She wasn't a street kid for nothing. She had been born with a natural born talent to steal, pick locks- basically anything that fell under the minor felonies department. Her mother was a drunk, never awake before three and never home before two. It wasn't like Sam had some cliché resentment for her mother, she just wanted more. She hadn't even pulled a runaway, she had simply told her mother one day that she was leaving and that was that. Nothing tearful and overdramatic, just the simple lay down of what was what.
Sam took the cash and sorted it neatly, tucking it in the back pocket of her shorts and crossing her legs as she piled the wallets. She'd sell the wallets tomorrow, she decided lying back on the roof of Seattle's finest super Wal-Mart. Tonight, she was going to pull it old style and sleep under the stars, nothing but the stores and the slight hum of traffic to worry her. Tomorrow though, she was going to be a queen. A punk queen, of course, complete with crazed hotel-ruining habits that would put her on another police record as a nondescript blue eye blonde.
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AU. Road-trip style. I think if I was ever crazy enough to start another chaptered fic this would be it.